Friday, June 02, 2006
Alien Invasion
Summer officially began at my house last Monday, when my son ushered in the vacation months with a Halo party. Those of you who already know what Halo is, are cringing and clucking your tongues in sympathy. The rest of you can click on this link and after reading about it, will also cringe, and cluck your tongues in sympathy.
We had advance warning of the impending doom (also a video game, and a prototype for games like Halo). A week ago Saturday morning my husband was watching TV downstairs when he heard the front door open on the landing above. He thought I was returning from a run, because he saw, as he described it, ”long, shapely legs in athletic shoes and shorts” descending the stairs.
When the torso and head appeared, he was surprised to see one of our son’s gangly teenage friends sauntering into the room. “Give this to Eric,” he said curtly and cryptically, as he laid a piece of paper on the ping pong table. Then he bounded back up the stairs and out the door. Curious, my husband examined the paper. It was The List.
The List contained the names and phone numbers of the potential draftees for the Halo party. My son and his organizer friends hoped to enlist up to 16 soldiers, plus a few extras for replacements. The boys play the popular video game in groups of four, all networked together somehow in one large assault to the death against an alien culture. Each group, or pod as I call them, (although I suppose it’s a misnomer to categorize humans, rather than aliens, in pods), has its own television and a controller for each of the vigilantes in that group.
The showdown began at high noon, and I peeked down through the railing of the staircase a short while later. Three pods of boys were huddled around three televisions, and there appeared to be a hierarchy based on TV size. My son, as the host, had power over the big screen TV (the mother pod), and assigned its users. The other pods were scattered out like satellites from the big screen. The farther away from the mother pod, the smaller was the size of the TV. The obvious conclusion was that the players assigned to the smaller TVs either lacked skill, or popularity.
I sat on the stair and studied the scene and all of its psychological and social implications. None of the boys bothered to acknowledge my presence, until I took a picture and the flash went off. “Hey, what’s that light?!” one of them growled, but didn’t even look up. He was annoyed, but too engrossed in his video battle to bother himself with me, an unarmed interloper, any further. I retreated back upstairs.
The party went on for hours. Periodically I would hear agitated shouting, intermixed with raucous laughter and confident taunting. The testosterone-filled air was smothering, to the point that the boys themselves opened all the windows in the room, and left the front door ajar. I barricaded myself in my office upstairs until the conflict was over.
I think the aliens lost, although judging from the commotion, there must have been numerous casualties on both sides. All in a day’s work at a Halo party, and the boys promptly turned their attention to ping pong. I suppose a fair amount of male bonding occurred during the day, and maybe some eye-hand coordination even improved. And admittedly I completed some office tasks in the nine hours I was secluded in my safe bastion. But in the long run, it will be all right with me if the pods migrate to some other Halo den for the next clash with the aliens.
We had advance warning of the impending doom (also a video game, and a prototype for games like Halo). A week ago Saturday morning my husband was watching TV downstairs when he heard the front door open on the landing above. He thought I was returning from a run, because he saw, as he described it, ”long, shapely legs in athletic shoes and shorts” descending the stairs.
When the torso and head appeared, he was surprised to see one of our son’s gangly teenage friends sauntering into the room. “Give this to Eric,” he said curtly and cryptically, as he laid a piece of paper on the ping pong table. Then he bounded back up the stairs and out the door. Curious, my husband examined the paper. It was The List.The List contained the names and phone numbers of the potential draftees for the Halo party. My son and his organizer friends hoped to enlist up to 16 soldiers, plus a few extras for replacements. The boys play the popular video game in groups of four, all networked together somehow in one large assault to the death against an alien culture. Each group, or pod as I call them, (although I suppose it’s a misnomer to categorize humans, rather than aliens, in pods), has its own television and a controller for each of the vigilantes in that group.
The showdown began at high noon, and I peeked down through the railing of the staircase a short while later. Three pods of boys were huddled around three televisions, and there appeared to be a hierarchy based on TV size. My son, as the host, had power over the big screen TV (the mother pod), and assigned its users. The other pods were scattered out like satellites from the big screen. The farther away from the mother pod, the smaller was the size of the TV. The obvious conclusion was that the players assigned to the smaller TVs either lacked skill, or popularity.
I sat on the stair and studied the scene and all of its psychological and social implications. None of the boys bothered to acknowledge my presence, until I took a picture and the flash went off. “Hey, what’s that light?!” one of them growled, but didn’t even look up. He was annoyed, but too engrossed in his video battle to bother himself with me, an unarmed interloper, any further. I retreated back upstairs.
The party went on for hours. Periodically I would hear agitated shouting, intermixed with raucous laughter and confident taunting. The testosterone-filled air was smothering, to the point that the boys themselves opened all the windows in the room, and left the front door ajar. I barricaded myself in my office upstairs until the conflict was over.
I think the aliens lost, although judging from the commotion, there must have been numerous casualties on both sides. All in a day’s work at a Halo party, and the boys promptly turned their attention to ping pong. I suppose a fair amount of male bonding occurred during the day, and maybe some eye-hand coordination even improved. And admittedly I completed some office tasks in the nine hours I was secluded in my safe bastion. But in the long run, it will be all right with me if the pods migrate to some other Halo den for the next clash with the aliens.
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I commend you for your long-suffering. Although I have never been in such close proximity to a Halo party, I recall what it was like as a teenager to watch my friends play predecessor versions of Halo. As you noted in your post, Halo has become more than a mere video game -- it has become a form of socializing and promoting male camaraderie. Interestingly, I currently find myself on somewhat of an empty island between generational continents. Before this metaphor gets out of control, let me explain: Many young men MY AGE (26) still host and attend Halo parties. In fact, I received an invitation to one such party a couple of months ago. Shamefully, I had to decline, for as a teenager unskilled and disinterested in most popular video games, I had always assured myself that the day would come when social acceptance would come not from how many frags (gamer parlance for a kill) I could accumulate in one game, but from how many good deeds I could do in a day. Alas, that day may not come. Since I began working for “Utah's largest law firm,” I have come to realize that there is a new version of Halo for 30 to 65 year-olds. It's called golf. Sometimes I wonder whether we're practicing law in there or preparing for the next PGA qualifier! I can't go more than an hour or two without hearing an attorney comment on how well or poorly he played the back nine last weekend. I am not a golfer, but I now fear that unless mini golf counts, I may end up being the office pariah. I'll end up assuming the same role I assumed among my video game playing friends -- the guy that doesn't play. As I stand at the doorstep of the professional world, I guess it's time for me to reevaluate how I spend my leisure time. Does anyone know when the next Halo party is? Or can someone teach me how to keep my elbow straight when I swing this driver?
Ha! I cringed at the first sight of the word "Halo!" I am very familiar with that sort of "male bonding". Although, Michael, many men much older than you --- approximately 40, I would say --- still participate in this strange ritual. However, I understand that the big screen TV is no longer the best choice because you have to turn your head farther to see what the other guy is up to... Personally I find these games way too violent and I feel there is already enough testosterone to go around without stimulating the production of more through aggresive play! So, If I were you, I'd choose golf. At least you'll get some exercise!
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